Search

Better write this quickly before it can get pushed aside again. Too many people got nervous about what I was going to write. Why e’rbody nervous about me doing some research? Seeking to cover their hind gates. Thus, showing me that they knew much more already. Waiting for the sign to let it out. What skeletons could they still be hiding? All I knew at the time was that things did not add up on top of not making sense. Yet, I got treated as if I was the person responsible. As if that plane hit the wrong flat. Something really fishy about it. Unfit for any restaurant. Oh well hell. On to greater things first.

To BE the greatest and KNOW it. It does not feel like he really left. Muhammad Ali had been on my list for TMB when I started it. Ready to profuse the site with his image. Upon further research I found the Black civil rights movement riddled with too many govern-your-mind agents, so I had to put my plan on ice. Cursing white govern-your-mind aside, to be clear on whether there could have been such movement without all those agents. What looked like a project any 6th grader should be able to knock out into an A+, had me scratching my head. That, and the dehydration caused by too much computers and its many radiation. Ideal side-track to gloss over the fact that for a long time I misspelled Ali’s first name in thought.

This arrogant uppity man could have been my role model. But, people did not take to me loud mouthing even when I was still a child. My soft voice already too much Black for them. But as for fighting, it is what I have been forced to do for a long time. My attempts to participate perverted. People talking over my head, to shake hands on deals behind my back. Only when taking to publishing using their white press, could they no longer pretend that my Black lives did not matter. A few NBP stories in, and I could finally see my fanatic-hater-fanclub! A huge field of fan attackers. Impatiently awaiting their turn to get a swing in. Still, they better put down that metal tin, because I ain’t playin’.

Let me take you back to 1992 for a sentence or a few. When the news came, I was shocked. For some reason beyond me, I felt that something had gone wrong. I felt much panic. Try as I might, I could not see any dark clouds from my window. Why would they send a plane to crash into Bimri (Bijlmer)? Were they sure? 300 feared dead? It did not make sense, and I was not getting any answers to quiet the panic. Forced to push it back and keep it mute. I still did not understand the other plane crash [in 1989. Ed.], so I definitely was not ready to deal with another one. I was young then, but I am not y… uh, AND I am still young now, but other people who are old, have shown me that the plane crash was not normal.

24 years, and it took me this long to know that an intervention was made, but too late to be able to save 43 plus 4 plus 3 plus x more people. The plane could not be lifted, only a lesser evil left to choose. Without the intervention the casualty number would have been much higher, any solution much more difficult. No solace to the victims, the traumatized and ailers. No worse scenario, makes what happened alright nor okay. As the case involved international players, the Dutch State was to vehemently defend the rights of its volk. To find that the govern-your-mind responsible to clear things up, did not seem to consider people from the Bijlmer volk enough.

Politics and Black lives. The front office of the State has a responsibility towards the volk of the State. When the human right to be able to live is violated, the govern-your-mind has to do all it can to turn things back to a healthy state, or else ensure proficient damages paid. But in the Bijlmer disaster case, what did the govern-your-mind do? Leave people to figure out that things were not healthy, and seek to forge accountability from the jhw corpses who had skeletons to hide. In their game of hide-and-pretend-to-seek, the lives of victims were deemed less worthy than the military cargo. Even though I did not even know this, it already irked me back then. No status shows no state. As I was under attack myself, there was nothing I could think to do about it. Seek ye answers to find a ye savior.

After the hysteria of hundreds upon hundreds deemed dead, the numbers started dropping. All the way down to 120, and… 40? To make up for the gap, govern-your-mind started babbling about ‘illegals’. Huh? My confused mind had had enough. The voodoo that they were doing came with flashing images on a TV screen. Instead of answers I got a headache. Teachers at school babbling things that only made sense to them. Democracy is the ‘people’ ruling the country. Huh? Foreigners are a represented minority. Huh? Classification of Dutch ‘allochtonen’. Huh? Generation A1, A2, A3. Huh? The ‘danger’ of the Bijlmer. Huh? Black civil rights movement to resemble ‘gay’ rights movement. Huh? Huh? Huh?

Instead of gaining more insight into Helland and its demons running crazy, my mind got more twisted to force me to accept their theory of normal as norm for me. After 24 years, I come to conclude that one who runs with demons becomes one. And that may be why a victim from the Bijlmer disaster could attach to me. An echo of a hindustani woman and infant showing to rush home – the apartment I left behind – to see about another child or other children. She seems distraught to find nothing but ruin. I cannot hear her, so I cannot know what to do for her. There was nothing that I could do for her.

I still do not recognize her. I have a link to India in my family, but when I used to speak about it, ridicule was all that I could receive in return. In my shock, an echo of her must have connected to me. Maybe to anyone trying to tune into seeing what the hell had happened. This woman does not seem to be mentioned on the victim’s list. She was not an ‘illegal’, but someone subletting or simply visiting. I do not know if the child or children she came looking for died. I do not even know if it is only my thought projection on her behavior. All I wanted to write was that this woman needs to get put on the list. Ensure that any surviving child knows about her plight. And, assure that by the next time I move, even her morphing echo will be at rest.

This is all I wanted to write as a last story before closing the gate to NBP. End this fight. For this wrong to get righted. To put any remnant of this injustice right to rest. Not by me, as I am not a basha, not a prophet, not even a proper messenger of the demons circling me. It makes no sense for me to wade through all the Bijlmerramp documents for a name that may not appear in any of them. I am only to call out the Kumbaya community to put some awfully wrong into something awesomely right. As far as I can know the State may already be back on it. Or anyone who has the privilege of reading ahead.

I lived in Klieverink and witnessed the explosion. I have always thought that the number of 43 was way too low. I think that more people died that day. The people that died had done so much to not be seen, to not be found. And in the end that was most convenient for the people in power. At east: that’s how it seemed to me. A convenient untruth … I still can’t grasp what happened that day.